Crazy Eights
by Dysanian
Summary: "Gee Matt" Mello deadpans "this sure seems planned out for just a simple card game."


_So when I was coming back from New York, my plane was supposed to leave at 7. Because of lightning storms, we didn't leave till 11:45. In those 5 hours, I played with this one deck of cards so much I got blisters on my fingers xD. So, I dunno, I guess that's where the basic premise for this fic came from. _

_I tell the coolest stories, bro._

_The only other thing I can really say about this fic is that it jumped me in an alley, beat me up and stole my wallet and all my fine jewelry. _

Mello doesn't know where all the booze in the fridge has come from.

But he has his suspicions.

His suspicions drive him into what could _technically_ be called the living room of their apartment, walking over to the sad excuse that was their couch to stare pointedly at Matt, who is too busy shooting the heads off of what look like a horde of the undead to look up. From the corner of the screen, a particularly vicious zombie leaps in front of the camera, and begins to rip Matt's character to shreds.

Although, now that Mello thinks about it, a zombie apocalypse wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. It would just be the icing on the cake to show how awful the world has become these days.

He shakes his head, not wanting to think about that more than he has to, and returns back to the matter at hand.

"Hey," he barks "the fuck is with all the beer. I thought you were-" But before he can finish his sentence, there's a _click_, and the world turns black.

Until his eyes adjust, that is. He looks around and sees that every electrical device in the apartment, save for the laptops, are off.

Great. Another power outage.

The dark blob that is Matt gives a sigh, stands up, and stretches his arms high above his head, cracking his knuckles along the way. Even in the darkness, Mello can see the small line of skin that appears when Matt's shirt teasingly rides up, and he finds himself quickly jogging to the kitchen to find candles.

When he comes back, candles in tow, Matt is leaning on the window, (yes, _the _window, the only one in their apartment) rubbing his eyes with one hand and swinging his goggles around the other. The lights of the city create an orange halo around Matt, giving him an ethereal look, as if he's glowing.

He remembers the time he and Matt tried to paint themselves with glow-in-the-dark paint on Halloween so they could scare the other kids that night. It had taken a few weeks to get enough money to buy the actual stuff, plus it had been a real challenge to sneak out of Wammys and back in without anyone noticing the paint. All that had resulted from their hard work was a lot of itchy, peeling paint on both their skins, and an hour long lecture from Roger on 'the incredible lack of common sense between the both of them.'

Realizing how long he has been standing in the same spot, Mello sits down and starts lighting candles, wondering when the fuck he got to be so sentimental. He guesses it's because he doesn't have much time left, which he hates to admit, scares him if he thinks about it for too long.

X

Matt looks to Mello, sees him bite his bottom lip and notices the very small twitch of his hands when he brings a match to the candles. It borders on creepy, but Matt has Mello figured out down to a _science_. He can tell what every sigh, every frown, even every _silence_ means, and can usually guess what problem connects with each expression. It's what has allowed Matt to stand by Mello; even when they were younger (well, younger than they are now), and Mello was screaming at him about how much he hated him, how he didn't want Matt as a friend, with a plethora of curse words to boot...Matt had understood what Mello was trying to say. He could still hear the other children from Wammys, asking with a mix of amazement and trepidation in their voices, how he could even stand hanging around Mello for so long. The only answer they ever got from Matt was a shrug and a slight smile.

He thinks he actually does know the answer, why he's stayed with Mello for so long. But whenever the thought comes wriggling up to the forefront of his mind, he pushes it right back down. He figures now is not the best time for life changing revelations (but he's been saying that to himself for the longest time). He idly wonders if he'll ever find the time, since both of theirs is running out. He looks to Mello, who is still strangely quiet, kneeling on the floor staring at the candles.

"So," Matt begins "what do you want to do now?"

Mello just shrugs, not taking his eyes off the candles. "Just go back to surveillance. It's the only thing we really _can_ do now, even if the power wasn't out." Matt merely nods, and walks over to the side of the couch where two pairs of headphones are lying on the ground.

X

Mello can feel his IQ dropping by the minute; no, by the _second. _He's finding it damn near impossible to believe that _this_ girl could ever be the second Kira. He's also slightly annoyed, simply because she is a walking, talking blonde stereotype. Sighing, he tosses the headphones down to the floor, and decides it's time for a chocolate break.

Chocolate is always the answer to everything.

When he walks into the kitchen, immediately heading to the cupboard designated specifically for _his _chocolate, he notices something odd. Matt is leaning against the doorway, playing with something in his hands. That, itself, is not what's odd with the situation.

He mentally smacks away the innuendo that invades his brain before it can remind him how badly he has just phrased that sentence.

No, instead of a DS, Gameboy, or random electronic in his hands, Matt is shuffling a deck of cards. Seeing Matt without a piece of technology is like...

...well, it's such a weird sight that Mello just stops in the middle of the kitchen with his chocolate bar halfway to his mouth. After gaping for a few more seconds, Matt finally realizes that he is being observed, and glances up to look at Mello, still shuffling the cards. Mello finally manages to get the chocolate bar to his mouth, snapping off a piece while he asks "Do I even want to know where you got those cards?"

Matt just 'hmms' thoughtfully, holding his hand out in front of him with the cards suspended above his palm by his fingers. He drops half of the deck into his palm, with the other half still held in his fingers. Mello watches with interest as the bottom half is pushed up and over what was once the top half, the deck falling together with a quiet _plop. _

He pretends that he's not as impressed as he is. When Matt is done (showing off), Mello takes himself and his chocolate out of the kitchen and back over to his particular laptop. Before he can even sit down and get his headphones back on, Matt has bounded over to Mello and snatches the laptop off the desk and closes it, holding it out of arms reach with a slight smile on his lips.

"Matt," Mello asks cautiously "what in the **hell** are you doing?"

Matt leans toward him with his smile getting bigger by the minute, laptop held behind him. When he begins to speak Mello can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Look, Mel, we've been doing surveillance for a couple weeks, and absolutely jack shit has happened. Let me repeat; exactly _jack shit,_ has happened. And I doubt anything, _anything,_ is going to happen tonight. So just relax for a minute."

At this, Matt sets the snatched laptop on the floor, straightens up, and heads back into the kitchen for a second before he reappears with two beers and a bottle of vodka.

It's starting to worry Mello how he seems to have missed all the alcohol that Matt has been smuggling in. The three bottles are set on the table along with two cracked shot glasses he pulls out of his pocket, along with, the deck of cards.

Mello really wants to put a stop to this. He should, and he knows it, but something is holding him back. Maybe it's the fact that Matt is smiling at him with mischief in his eyes that he hasn't seen since Wammys. It reminds him of all night studies and treasure hunts and times when everything was straight forward and simple. It makes him remember when there was L and Kira was nothing.

Mello almost groans out loud; again with the fucking nostalgia. He can't help it when one of his hands connects with his forehead.

"Fine." he relents, hand still covering his face so his voice comes out slightly muffled "Okay. We can take a break tonight. But only tonight."

When Mello glances through his fingers, he can see Matt dealing the cards into two piles on the table. He can also see the Cheshire-like grin plastered on Matt's face, and Mello begins to fear for his life.

X

"So I was thinking.."

"That must have been painful" Mello interrupts

"...that we play a game. A card game." Matt continues without acknowledging Mello's comment.

"What, you want to play go-fish? Yeah, have fun by yourself." Mello says before trying to grab one of the beers.

_Trying,_ because Matt slaps Mello's hand away and pulls the bottles closer to himself, shaking his head quickly in discouragement. He has to wait a moment for the world to stop spinning before he speaks.

"No, of course not go fish. Crazy eights."

Mello stares at him like he has just asked if he could get a second pair of goggles for the other head sprouting from his shoulder.

With analogies like that, Matt can definitively say he is drunk off his ass.

"C'mon Mel. Humor me. One game." He picks up the seven cards he dealt himself and spreads them out in front of his face, as if the cards were a fan.

"Crazy eights? Of any card game, you want to play crazy eights?" Mello scrunches up his nose and scowls at him.

Matt blames the alcohol for making him think Mello's scrunched up nose looks adorable. Really.

"Sure, why not? It's fun-"

"That game is for ten year olds. And from what I can tell, you have the alcohol tolerance of one, too."

Matt sighs internally. He was hoping that Mello would be a bit more open minded.

Oh well.

He merely shrugs, and continues "Well alrighty then. I understand if you don't want to play cards with me; I mean, I know you were never really that great at them. I completely understand your hesitation. It's all good." It's a low blow, and Matt knows it, but damnit he's getting desperate here.

A dangerous light appears in Mello's eyes, and Matt does a silent cheer inside. He's got him.

He also says a silent prayer that Mello doesn't rip his arms off right then and there.

Since after a few seconds none of his body parts are flying across the room in a bloody mess, Matt is incredibly relieved to see Mello pick up his cards and merely glare at him with enough power to melt glass.

"Alright. I'm playing. Only because I know you won't shut up if I don't. " Mello spits out between clenched teeth, his nose scrunching up.

Again with the scrunched up nose. Mello pulls off 'cute' terrifyingly well. Again.

It must be the booze; no other explanation.

"I also figured that no good card game is set without alcohol rewards and punishments." Matt says, sitting down across from Mello "See, whoever puts down an eight, will get to decide the suit, as usual. But this time, with the included bonus of deciding how many shots you, me, or the both us can take. The limit is thirteen."

"Gee Matt" Mello deadpans "this sure seems planned out for just a simple card game." But Matt can see the determined look in Mello's eyes, so he merely adjusts the strap on his goggles and picks up the top card of the deck.

"Ace of spades." he says as he sets it on the table "Go ahead."

X

Mello absently rolls an empty bottle under the heel of his boot, the constant sound and movement relaxing him. Back and forth, clink clink clink, back and forth, clink clink clink, back and-

"HA!" Matt exclaims, pointing a wobbly finger at him "Queen of hearts. Suck it." But Matt cannot hold his arm up for longer than a few seconds, and lets it fall to the table; the force of the impact sends various bottles clattering to the floor.

Mello looks at his current hand and swears. He has been counting the cards since the beginning of the game, so he's sure he knows this goddamned deck so well he could probably predict the next ten cards with his eyes closed. Given that, he was almost positive that the queen of hearts should actually have been somewhere in the deck right now, not in Matt's possession.

That was the main reason the game had been going on for...how long now? Mello looks up at the clock.

Holy shit.

They had been playing for _four hours._

Yeah, the main reason the game had gone on for _four fucking hours_ was that as soon as it seemed like Mello was about to win, with only one card left, Matt would somehow play the exact card that would, without fail, screw him up.

And then of course would he would need to draw at least two or three new cards, along with make an entirely new strategy; and the game would go on.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

It is also becoming increasingly difficult to focus solely on the game and _not_ on the way Matt bites his bottom lip when he's concentrating, what with the staggering amount of alcohol now coursing through his veins.

Somewhere along the way there had been an unspoken change in the rules from "whoever plays an eight decides how many shots the other person drinks" to "just drink as many shots as the card played is worth. Oh, and match the other person when they do the same" Or maybe they did decide out loud, but Mello is having problems remembering what happened half an hour ago.

But who can blame him when Matt, sweet Jesus _Matt, _is sitting so close to him? No one with functioning eyes, that's for sure.

Lost in his own (slightly inappropriate) thoughts, Mello absently draws a card from the-once again-thinning deck.

He can practically feel his eyes light up and taste relief as he looks at the card in his hand. "Well it's about damn time" he thinks "This game can finally be _over."_

Without saying anything, but it's not really necessary with the vicious smirk on his face, he places the eight of hearts on the pile and waits for Matt's reaction.

Mello was secretly hoping for SOME sort of outburst from Matt, even just some angry cussing, but all Matt does is throw his cards-all three of them-on the table and lean back, smiling. He's pretty sure a nuclear war could be going on around them, and the only thing Matt would worry about is where he last left his DS.

"So Mel..." he says, still with that stupid grin on his face.

It looks far, far too innocent. Uh oh.

"...It seems like you're the winner here." He then leans in with his arms crossed on the table and an expression that is a mix of things Mello can't place. "...What would you like as a prize?"

Before he can even register what he is doing, Mello is reaching across the table to grab a handful of Matt's collar, moves in, and yanks hard. Their lips collide and Mello can taste cigarettes and alcohol and a taste that can only be _Matt _all jumbled together, to make the familiar buzz of addiction and want hit him full force.

When he pulls back after a few charged seconds, Mello can see how dark Matt's eyes have become and the way his hair has been slightly mussed from the sudden action, and all he can think to say is, "You. I want you."

The only good part about a shitty cramped apartment being, well, shitty and cramped, is having the ability to navigate when blind and preoccupied.

His back hits the couch and a knee is shoved in between his leg and he moans. "Maybe..." he pants, because fuck it all, the air seems to have been sucked out of the room "...maybe crazy eights isn't so bad."

X

Instead of waking up to the glow of his laptops or even to the rarely slept in scratchy sheets of his bed, Matt finds himself blinking sleep out of his eyes on the couch to see an expanse of bare skin and a mess of golden hair pressed against him.

As he lets his arm fall over Mello and his hand brushes the carpet, Matt feels something in his sleeve, and shakes his arm to feel a few cards fall out and fall to the floor.

He smiles despite the headache threatening to spilt his skull in half, and feels rather accomplished with himself.

Fumbling around for a few seconds, he finally finds purchase on one of the cards and holds it high above his head.

The light streaming in through the window is now being, rather poorly, blocked by the card in his outstretched hand, and Matt has to squint and ignore the awful pain to see which it is.

He breathes out a soft, quiet laugh as he lets go of the card and drapes one arm over his eyes and the other over and around Mello's chest.

There _is_ something a bit crazy about how an eight brought them together.


End file.
